The Country of the Blind: and Other Science-Fiction Stories (Dover Thrift Editions)

The Country of the Blind: And Other Stories

The Country of the Blind and Other Stories

The Door in the Wall, and Other Stories

The Stories of H.G. Wells (Includes biography about the life and times of H.G. Wells)

The Country of the Blind, and 32 Other Stories (The original unabridged edition)

The Country of the Blind, and Other Stories

The Country of the Blind, and Other Stories

Nunez had an eye for all beautiful things, and it seemed to him that theglow upon the snowfields and glaciers that rose about the valley on everyside was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His eyes went fromthat inaccessible glory to the village and irrigated fields, fast sinkinginto the twilight, and suddenly a wave of emotion took him, and he thankedGod from the bottom of his heart that the power of sight had been givenhim.

He heard a voice calling to him from out of the village. "Ya ho there,Bogota! Come hither!"

At that he stood up smiling. He would show these people once and for allwhat sight would do for a man. They would seek him, but not find him.

"You move not, Bogota," said the voice.

He laughed noiselessly, and made two stealthy steps aside from the path.

"Trample not on the grass, Bogota; that is not allowed."

Nunez had scarcely heard the sound he made himself. He stopped amazed.

The owner of the voice came running up the piebald path towards him.

He stepped back into the pathway. "Here I am," he said.

"Why did you not come when I called you?" said the blind man. "Must you beled like a child? Cannot you hear the path as you walk?"

Nunez laughed. "I can see it," he said.

"There is no such word as _see_," said the blind man, after a pause."Cease this folly, and follow the sound of my feet."

Nunez followed, a little annoyed.

"My time will come," he said.

"You'll learn," the blind man answered. "There is much to learn in theworld."

"Has no one told you, 'In the Country of the Blind the One-eyed Man isKing'?"

"What is blind?" asked the blind man carelessly over his shoulder.

Four days passed, and the fifth found the King of the Blind stillincognito, as a clumsy and useless stranger among his subjects.

It was, he found, much more difficult to proclaim himself than he hadsupposed, and in the meantime, while he meditated his _coup d'etat,_he did what he was told and learnt the manners and customs of the Countryof the Blind. He found working and going about at night a particularlyirksome thing, and he decided that that should be the first thing he wouldchange.

They led a simple, laborious life, these people, with all the elements ofvirtue and happiness, as these things can be understood by men. Theytoiled, but not oppressively; they had food and clothing sufficient fortheir needs; they had days and seasons of rest; they made much of musicand singing, and there was love among them, and little children.

It was marvellous with what confidence and precision they went about theirordered world. Everything, you see, had been made to fit their needs; eachof the radiating paths of the valley area had a constant angle to theothers, and was distinguished by a special notch upon its kerbing; allobstacles and irregularities of path or meadow had long since been clearedaway; all their methods and procedure arose naturally from their specialneeds. Their senses had become marvellously acute; they could hear andjudge the slightest gesture of a man a dozen paces away--could hear thevery beating of his heart. Intonation had long replaced expression withthem, and touches gesture, and their work with hoe and spade and fork wasas free and confident as garden work can be. Their sense of smell wasextraordinarily fine; they could distinguish individual differences asreadily as a dog can, and they went about the tending of the llamas, wholived among the rocks above and came to the wall for food and shelter,with ease and confidence. It was only when at last Nunez sought to asserthimself that he found how easy and confident their movements could be.

He rebelled only after he had tried persuasion.

He tried at first on several occasions to tell them of sight. "Look youhere, you people," he said. "There are things you do not understand inme."

Once or twice one or two of them attended to him; they sat with facesdowncast and ears turned intelligently towards him, and he did his best totell them what it was to see. Among his hearers was a girl, with eyelidsless red and sunken than the others, so that one could almost fancy shewas hiding eyes, whom especially he hoped to persuade. He spoke of thebeauties of sight, of watching the mountains, of the sky and the sunrise,and they heard him with amused incredulity that presently becamecondemnatory. They told him there were indeed no mountains at all, butthat the end of the rocks where the llamas grazed was indeed the end ofthe world; thence sprang a cavernous roof of the universe, from which thedew and the avalanches fell; and when he maintained stoutly the world hadneither end nor roof such as they supposed, they said his thoughts werewicked. So far as he could describe sky and clouds and stars to them itseemed to them a hideous void, a terrible blankness in the place of thesmooth roof to things in which they believed--it was an article of faithwith them that the cavern roof was exquisitely smooth to the touch. He sawthat in some manner he shocked them, and gave up that aspect of the matteraltogether, and tried to show them the practical value of sight. Onemorning he saw Pedro in the path called Seventeen and coming towards thecentral houses, but still too far off for hearing or scent, and he toldthem as much. "In a little while," he prophesied, "Pedro will be here." Anold man remarked that Pedro had no business on path Seventeen, and then,as if in confirmation, that individual as he drew near turned and wenttransversely into path Ten, and so back with nimble paces towards theouter wall. They mocked Nunez when Pedro did not arrive, and afterwards,when he asked Pedro questions to clear his character, Pedro denied andoutfaced him, and was afterwards hostile to him.

Then he induced them to let him go a long way up the sloping meadowstowards the wall with one complacent individual, and to him he promised todescribe all that happened among the houses. He noted certain goings andcomings, but the things that really seemed to signify to these peoplehappened inside of or behind the windowless houses--the only things theytook note of to test him by--and of these he could see or tell nothing;and it was after the failure of this attempt, and the ridicule they couldnot repress, that he resorted to force. He thought of seizing a spade andsuddenly smiting one or two of them to earth, and so in fair combatshowing the advantage of eyes. He went so far with that resolution as toseize his spade, and then he discovered a new thing about himself, andthat was that it was impossible for him to hit a blind man in cold blood.

He hesitated, and found them all aware that he had snatched up the spade.They stood alert, with their heads on one side, and bent ears towards himfor what he would do next.

"Put that spade down," said one, and he felt a sort of helpless horror. Hecame near obedience.

Then he thrust one backwards against a house wall, and fled past him andout of the village.

He went athwart one of their meadows, leaving a track of trampled grassbehind his feet, and presently sat down by the side of one of their ways.He felt something of the buoyancy that comes to all men in the beginningof a fight, but more perplexity. He began to realise that you cannot evenfight happily with creatures who stand upon a different mental basis toyourself. Far away he saw a number of men carrying spades and sticks comeout of the street of houses, and advance in a spreading line along theseveral paths towards him. They advanced slowly, speaking frequently toone another, and ever and again the whole cordon would halt and sniff theair and listen.

The first time they did this Nunez laughed. But afterwards he did notlaugh.

One struck his trail in the meadow grass, and came stooping and feelinghis way along it.

For five minutes he watched the slow extension of the cordon, and then hisvague disposition to do something forthwith became frantic. He stood up,went a pace or so towards the circumferential wall, turned, and went backa little way. There they all stood in a crescent, still and listening.

He also stood still, gripping his spade very tightly in both hands. Shouldhe charge them?

The pulse in his ears ran into the rhythm of "In the Country of the Blindthe One-eyed Man is King!"

Should he charge them?

He looked back at the high and unclimbable wall behind--unclimbablebecause of its smooth plastering, but withal pierced with many littledoors, and at the approaching line of seekers. Behind these others werenow coming out of the street of houses.

Should he charge them?

"Bogota!" called one. "Bogota! where are you?"

He gripped his spade still tighter, and advanced down the meadows towardsthe place of habitations, and directly he moved they converged upon him."I'll hit them if they touch me," he swore; "by Heaven, I will. I'll hit."He called aloud, "Look here, I'm going to do what I like in this valley.Do you hear? I'm going to do what I like and go where I like!"

They were moving in upon him quickly, groping, yet moving rapidly. It waslike playing blind man's buff, with everyone blindfolded except one. "Gethold of him!" cried one. He found himself in the arc of a loose curve ofpursuers. He felt suddenly he must be active and resolute.

"You don't understand," he cried in a voice that was meant to be great andresolute, and which broke. "You are blind, and I can see. Leave me alone!"

"Bogota! Put down that spade, and come off the grass!"

The last order, grotesque in its urban familiarity, produced a gust ofanger.

He began to run, not knowing clearly where to run. He ran from the nearestblind man, because it was a horror to hit him. He stopped, and then made adash to escape from their closing ranks. He made for where a gap was wide,and the men on either side, with a quick perception of the approach of hispaces, rushed in on one another. He sprang forward, and then saw he mustbe caught, and _swish_! the spade had struck. He felt the soft thudof hand and arm, and the man was down with a yell of pain, and he wasthrough.

Through! And then he was close to the street of houses again, and blindmen, whirling spades and stakes, were running with a sort of reasonedswiftness hither and thither.

He heard steps behind him just in time, and found a tall man rushingforward and swiping at the sound of him. He lost his nerve, hurled hisspade a yard wide at his antagonist, and whirled about and fled, fairlyyelling as he dodged another.

He was panic-stricken. He ran furiously to and fro, dodging when there wasno need to dodge, and in his anxiety to see on every side of him at once,stumbling. For a moment he was down and they heard his fall. Far away inthe circumferential wall a little doorway looked like heaven, and he setoff in a wild rush for it. He did not even look round at his pursuersuntil it was gained, and he had stumbled across the bridge, clambered alittle way among the rocks, to the surprise and dismay of a young llama,who went leaping out of sight, and lay down sobbing for breath.

And so his _coup d'etat_ came to an end.

He stayed outside the wall of the valley of the Blind for two nights anddays without food or shelter, and meditated upon the unexpected. Duringthese meditations he repeated very frequently and always with a profoundernote of derision the exploded proverb: "In the Country of the Blind theOne-Eyed Man is King." He thought chiefly of ways of fighting andconquering these people, and it grew clear that for him no practicable waywas possible. He had no weapons, and now it would be hard to get one.

The canker of civilisation had got to him even in Bogota, and he could notfind it in himself to go down and assassinate a blind man. Of course, ifhe did that, he might then dictate terms on the threat of assassinatingthem all. But--sooner or later he must sleep!...

He tried also to find food among the pine trees, to be comfortable underpine boughs while the frost fell at night, and--with less confidence--tocatch a llama by artifice in order to try to kill it--perhaps by hammeringit with a stone--and so finally, perhaps, to eat some of it. But thellamas had a doubt of him and regarded him with distrustful brown eyes,and spat when he drew near. Fear came on him the second day and fits ofshivering. Finally he crawled down to the wall of the Country of the Blindand tried to make terms. He crawled along by the stream, shouting, untiltwo blind men came out to the gate and talked to him.

"I was mad," he said. "But I was only newly made."

They said that was better.

He told them he was wiser now, and repented of all he had done.

Then he wept without intention, for he was very weak and ill now, and theytook that as a favourable sign.

"About ten times ten the height of a man there is a roof above the world--of rock--and very, very smooth." ... He burst again into hystericaltears. "Before you ask me any more, give me some food or I shall die."

He expected dire punishments, but these blind people were capable oftoleration. They regarded his rebellion as but one more proof of hisgeneral idiocy and inferiority; and after they had whipped him theyappointed him to do the simplest and heaviest work they had for anyone todo, and he, seeing no other way of living, did submissively what he wastold.

He was ill for some days, and they nursed him kindly. That refined hissubmission. But they insisted on his lying in the dark, and that was agreat misery. And blind philosophers came and talked to him of the wickedlevity of his mind, and reproved him so impressively for his doubts aboutthe lid of rock that covered their cosmic casserole that he almost doubtedwhether indeed he was not the victim of hallucination in not seeing itoverhead.

So Nunez became a citizen of the Country of the Blind, and these peopleceased to be a generalised people and became individualities and familiarto him, while the world beyond the mountains became more and more remoteand unreal. There was Yacob, his master, a kindly man when not annoyed;there was Pedro, Yacob's nephew; and there was Medina-sarote, who was theyoungest daughter of Yacob. She was little esteemed in the world of theblind, because she had a clear-cut face, and lacked that satisfying,glossy smoothness that is the blind man's ideal of feminine beauty; butNunez thought her beautiful at first, and presently the most beautifulthing in the whole creation. Her closed eyelids were not sunken and redafter the common way of the valley, but lay as though they might openagain at any moment; and she had long eyelashes, which were considered agrave disfigurement. And her voice was strong, and did not satisfy theacute hearing of the valley swains. So that she had no lover.

There came a time when Nunez thought that, could he win her, he would beresigned to live in the valley for all the rest of his days.

He watched her; he sought opportunities of doing her little services, andpresently he found that she observed him. Once at a rest-day gatheringthey sat side by side in the dim starlight, and the music was sweet. Hishand came upon hers and he dared to clasp it. Then very tenderly shereturned his pressure. And one day, as they were at their meal in thedarkness, he felt her hand very softly seeking him, and as it chanced thefire leapt then and he saw the tenderness of her face.

He sought to speak to her.

He went to her one day when she was sitting in the summer moonlightspinning. The light made her a thing of silver and mystery. He sat down ather feet and told her he loved her, and told her how beautiful she seemedto him. He had a lover's voice, he spoke with a tender reverence that camenear to awe, and she had never before been touched by adoration. She madehim no definite answer, but it was clear his words pleased her.

After that he talked to her whenever he could take an opportunity. Thevalley became the world for him, and the world beyond the mountains wheremen lived in sunlight seemed no more than a fairy tale he would some daypour into her ears. Very tentatively and timidly he spoke to her of sight.

Sight seemed to her the most poetical of fancies, and she listened to hisdescription of the stars and the mountains and her own sweet white-litbeauty as though it was a guilty indulgence. She did not believe, shecould only half understand, but she was mysteriously delighted, and itseemed to him that she completely understood.

His love lost its awe and took courage. Presently he was for demandingher of Yacob and the elders in marriage, but she became fearful anddelayed. And it was one of her elder sisters who first told Yacob thatMedina-sarote and Nunez were in love.

There was from the first very great opposition to the marriage of Nunezand Medina-sarote; not so much because they valued her as because theyheld him as a being apart, an idiot, incompetent thing below thepermissible level of a man. Her sisters opposed it bitterly as bringingdiscredit on them all; and old Yacob, though he had formed a sort ofliking for his clumsy, obedient serf, shook his head and said the thingcould not be. The young men were all angry at the idea of corrupting therace, and one went so far as to revile and strike Nunez. He struck back.Then for the first time he found an advantage in seeing, even by twilight,and after that fight was over no one was disposed to raise a hand againsthim. But they still found his marriage impossible.

Old Yacob had a tenderness for his last little daughter, and was grievedto have her weep upon his shoulder.

"You see, my dear, he's an idiot. He has delusions; he can't do anythingright."

"I know," wept Medina-sarote. "But he's better than he was. He's gettingbetter. And he's strong, dear father, and kind--stronger and kinder thanany I other man in the world. And he loves me--and, father, I love him."

Old Yacob was greatly distressed to find her inconsolable, and, besides--what made it more distressing--he liked Nunez for many things. So he wentand sat in the windowless council-chamber with the other elders andwatched the trend of the talk, and said, at the proper time, "He's betterthan he was. Very likely, some day, we shall find him as sane asourselves."

Then afterwards one of the elders, who thought deeply, had an idea. He wasthe great doctor among these people, their medicine-man, and he had a veryphilosophical and inventive mind, and the idea of curing Nunez of hispeculiarities appealed to him. One day when Yacob was present he returnedto the topic of Nunez.

"I have examined Bogota," he said, "and the case is clearer to me. I thinkvery probably he might be cured."

"That is what I have always hoped," said old Yacob.

"His brain is affected," said the blind doctor.

The elders murmured assent.

"Now, _what_ affects it?"

"Ah!" said old Yacob.

"_This_," said the doctor, answering his own question. "Those queerthings that are called the eyes, and which exist to make an agreeable softdepression in the face, are diseased, in the case of Bogota, in such a wayas to affect his brain. They are greatly distended, he has eyelashes, andhis eyelids move, and consequently his brain is in a state of constantirritation and distraction."

"Yes?" said old Yacob. "Yes?"

"And I think I may say with reasonable certainty that, in order to curehim completely, all that we need do is a simple and easy surgicaloperation--namely, to remove these irritant bodies."

"And then he will be sane?"

"Then he will be perfectly sane, and a quite admirable citizen."

"Thank Heaven for science!" said old Yacob, and went forth at once to tellNunez of his happy hopes.

But Nunez's manner of receiving the good news struck him as being cold anddisappointing.

"One might think," he said, "from the tone you take, that you did not carefor my daughter."

It was Medina-sarote who persuaded Nunez to face the blind surgeons.

"_You_ do not want me," he said, "to lose my gift of sight?"

She shook her head.

"My world is sight."

Her head drooped lower.

"There are the beautiful things, the beautiful little things--the flowers,the lichens among the rocks, the lightness and softness on a piece of fur,the far sky with its drifting down of clouds, the sunsets and the stars.And there is _you_. For you alone it is good to have sight, to seeyour sweet, serene face, your kindly lips, your dear, beautiful handsfolded together... It is these eyes of mine you won, these eyes that holdme to you, that these idiots seek. Instead, I must touch you, hear you,and never see you again. I must come under that roof of rock and stone anddarkness, that horrible roof under which your imagination stoops...No; you would not have me do that?"

A disagreeable doubt had arisen in him. He stopped, and left the thing aquestion.

"I wish," she said, "sometimes----" She paused.

"Yes," said he, a little apprehensively.

"I wish sometimes--you would not talk like that."

"Like what?"

"I know it's pretty--it's your imagination. I love it, but _now_----"

He felt cold. "_Now_?" he said faintly.

She sat quite still.

"You mean--you think--I should be better, better perhaps-----"

He was realising things very swiftly. He felt anger, indeed, anger at thedull course of fate, but also sympathy for her lack of understanding--asympathy near akin to pity.

"_Dear_," he said, and he could see by her whiteness how intenselyher spirit pressed against the things she could not say. He put his armsabout her, he kissed her ear, and they sat for a time in silence.

"If I were to consent to this?" he said at last, in a voice that was verygentle.

She flung her arms about him, weeping wildly. "Oh, if you would," shesobbed, "if only you would!"

* * * * *

For a week before the operation that was to raise him from his servitudeand inferiority to the level of a blind citizen, Nunez knew nothing ofsleep, and all through the warm sunlit hours, while the others slumberedhappily, he sat brooding or wandered aimlessly, trying to bring his mindto bear on his dilemma. He had given his answer, he had given his consent,and still he was not sure. And at last work-time was over, the sun rose insplendour over the golden crests, and his last day of vision began forhim. He had a few minutes with Medina-sarote before she went apart tosleep.

"To-morrow," he said, "I shall see no more."

"Dear heart!" she answered, and pressed his hands with all her strength.

"They will hurt you but little," she said; "and you are going through thispain--you are going through it, dear lover, for _me_... Dear, if awoman's heart and life can do it, I will repay you. My dearest one, mydearest with the tender voice, I will repay."

He was drenched in pity for himself and her.

He held her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers, and looked on hersweet face for the last time. "Good-bye!" he whispered at that dear sight,"good-bye!"

And then in silence he turned away from her.

She could hear his slow retreating footsteps, and something in the rhythmof them threw her into a passion of weeping.

He had fully meant to go to a lonely place where the meadows werebeautiful with white narcissus, and there remain until the hour of hissacrifice should come, but as he went he lifted up his eyes and saw themorning, the morning like an angel in golden armour, marching down thesteeps...

It seemed to him that before this splendour he, and this blind world inthe valley, and his love, and all, were no more than a pit of sin.

He did not turn aside as he had meant to do, but went on, and passedthrough the wall of the circumference and out upon the rocks, and his eyeswere always upon the sunlit ice and snow.

He saw their infinite beauty, and his imagination soared over them to thethings beyond he was now to resign for ever.

He thought of that great free world he was parted from, the world that washis own, and he had a vision of those further slopes, distance beyonddistance, with Bogota, a place of multitudinous stirring beauty, a gloryby day, a luminous mystery by night, a place of palaces and fountains andstatues and white houses, lying beautifully in the middle distance. Hethought how for a day or so one might come down through passes, drawingever nearer and nearer to its busy streets and ways. He thought of theriver journey, day by day, from great Bogota to the still vaster worldbeyond, through towns and villages, forest and desert places, the rushingriver day by day, until its banks receded and the big steamers camesplashing by, and one had reached the sea--the limitless sea, with itsthousand islands, its thousands of islands, and its ships seen dimly faraway in their incessant journeyings round and about that greater world.And there, unpent by mountains, one saw the sky--the sky, not such a discas one saw it here, but an arch of immeasurable blue, a deep of deeps inwhich the circling stars were floating...

His eyes scrutinised the great curtain of the mountains with a keenerinquiry.

For example, if one went so, up that gully and to that chimney there, thenone might come out high among those stunted pines that ran round in a sortof shelf and rose still higher and higher as it passed above the gorge.And then? That talus might be managed. Thence perhaps a climb might befound to take him up to the precipice that came below the snow; and ifthat chimney failed, then another farther to the east might serve hispurpose better. And then? Then one would be out upon the amber-lit snowthere, and half-way up to the crest of those beautiful desolations.

He glanced back at the village, then turned right round and regarded itsteadfastly.

He thought of Medina-sarote, and she had become small and remote.

He turned again towards the mountain wall, down which the day had come tohim.

Then very circumspectly he began to climb.

When sunset came he was no longer climbing, but he was far and high. Hehad been higher, but he was still very high. His clothes were torn, hislimbs were blood-stained, he was bruised in many places, but he lay as ifhe were at his ease, and there was a smile on his face.

From where he rested the valley seemed as if it were in a pit and nearly amile below. Already it was dim with haze and shadow, though the mountainsummits around him were things of light and fire. The mountain summitsaround him were things of light and fire, and the little details of therocks near at hand were drenched with subtle beauty--a vein of greenmineral piercing the grey, the flash of crystal faces here and there, aminute, minutely-beautiful orange lichen close beside his face. There weredeep mysterious shadows in the gorge, blue deepening into purple, andpurple into a luminous darkness, and overhead was the illimitable vastnessof the sky. But he heeded these things no longer, but lay quite inactivethere, smiling as if he were satisfied merely to have escaped from thevalley of the Blind in which he had thought to be King.

The glow of the sunset passed, and the night came, and still he laypeacefully contented under the cold clear stars.

XXXIII.

THE BEAUTIFUL SUIT.

There was once a little man whose mother made him a beautiful suit ofclothes. It was green and gold, and woven so that I cannot describe howdelicate and fine it was, and there was a tie of orange fluffiness thattied up under his chin. And the buttons in their newness shone like stars.He was proud and pleased by his suit beyond measure, and stood before thelong looking-glass when first he put it on, so astonished and delightedwith it that he could hardly turn himself away. He wanted to wear iteverywhere, and show it to all sorts of people. He thought over all theplaces he had ever visited, and all the scenes he had ever hearddescribed, and tried to imagine what the feel of it would be if he were togo now to those scenes and places wearing his shining suit, and he wantedto go out forthwith into the long grass and the hot sunshine of the meadowwearing it. Just to wear it! But his mother told him "No." She told him hemust take great care of his suit, for never would he have another nearlyso fine; he must save it and save it, and only wear it on rare and greatoccasions. It was his wedding-suit, she said. And she took the buttons andtwisted them up with tissue paper for fear their bright newness should betarnished, and she tacked little guards over the cuffs and elbows, andwherever the suit was most likely to come to harm. He hated and resistedthese things, but what could he do? And at last her warnings andpersuasions had effect, and he consented to take off his beautiful suitand fold it into its proper creases, and put it away. It was almost asthough he gave it up again. But he was always thinking of wearing it, andof the supreme occasions when some day it might be worn without theguards, without the tissue paper on the buttons, utterly and delightfully,never caring, beautiful beyond measure.

One night, when he was dreaming of it after his habit, he dreamt he tookthe tissue paper from one of the buttons, and found its brightness alittle faded, and that distressed him mightily in his dream. He polishedthe poor faded button and polished it, and, if anything, it grew duller.He woke up and lay awake, thinking of the brightness a little dulled, andwondering how he would feel if perhaps when the great occasion (whateverit might be) should arrive, one button should chance to be ever so littleshort of its first glittering freshness, and for days and days thatthought remained with him distressingly. And when next his mother let himwear his suit, he was tempted and nearly gave way to the temptation justto fumble off one little bit of tissue paper and see if indeed the buttonswere keeping as bright as ever.

He went trimly along on his way to church, full of this wild desire. Foryou must know his mother did, with repeated and careful warnings, let himwear his suit at times, on Sundays, for example, to and fro from church,when there was no threatening of rain, no dust blowing, nor anything toinjure it, with its buttons covered and its protections tacked upon it,and a sun-shade in his hand to shadow it if there seemed too strong asunlight for its colours. And always, after such occasions, he brushed itover and folded it exquisitely as she had taught him, and put it awayagain.

Now all these restrictions his mother set to the wearing of his suit heobeyed, always he obeyed them, until one strange night he woke up and sawthe moonlight shining outside his window. It seemed to him the moonlightwas not common moonlight, nor the night a common night, and for awhile helay quite drowsily, with this odd persuasion in his mind. Thought joinedon to thought like things that whisper warmly in the shadows. Then he satup in his little bed suddenly very alert, with his heart beating veryfast, and a quiver in his body from top to toe. He had made up his mind.He knew that now he was going to wear his suit as it should be worn. Hehad no doubt in the matter. He was afraid, terribly afraid, but glad,glad.

He got out of his bed and stood for a moment by the window looking at themoonshine-flooded garden, and trembling at the thing he meant to do. Theair was full of a minute clamour of crickets and murmurings, of theinfinitesimal shoutings of little living things. He went very gentlyacross the creaking boards, for fear that he might wake the sleepinghouse, to the big dark clothes-press wherein his beautiful suit layfolded, and he took it out garment by garment, and softly and very eagerlytore off its tissue-paper covering and its tacked protections until thereit was, perfect and delightful as he had seen it when first his mother hadgiven it to him--a long time it seemed ago. Not a button had tarnished,not a thread had faded on this dear suit of his; he was glad enough forweeping as in a noiseless hurry he put it on. And then back he went, softand quick, to the window that looked out upon the garden, and stood therefor a minute, shining in the moonlight, with his buttons twinkling likestars, before he got out on the sill, and, making as little of a rustlingas he could, clambered down to the garden path below. He stood before hismother's house, and it was white and nearly as plain as by day, with everywindow-blind but his own shut like an eye that sleeps. The trees caststill shadows like intricate black lace upon the wall.

The garden in the moonlight was very different from the garden by day;moonshine was tangled in the hedges and stretched in phantom cobwebs fromspray to spray. Every flower was gleaming white or crimson black, and theair was a-quiver with the thridding of small crickets and nightingalessinging unseen in the depths of the trees.

There was no darkness in the world, but only warm, mysterious shadows,and all the leaves and spikes were edged and lined with iridescent jewelsof dew. The night was warmer than any night had ever been, the heavensby some miracle at once vaster and nearer, and, spite of the greativory-tinted moon that ruled the world, the sky was full of stars.

The little man did not shout nor sing for all his infinite gladness. Hestood for a time like one awestricken, and then, with a queer small cryand holding out his arms, he ran out as if he would embrace at once thewhole round immensity of the world. He did not follow the neat set pathsthat cut the garden squarely, but thrust across the beds and through thewet, tall, scented herbs, through the night-stock and the nicotine and theclusters of phantom white mallow flowers and through the thickets ofsouthernwood and lavender, and knee-deep across a wide space ofmignonette. He came to the great hedge, and he thrust his way through it;and though the thorns of the brambles scored him deeply and tore threadsfrom his wonderful suit, and though burrs and goose-grass and haverscaught and clung to him, he did not care. He did not care, for he knew itwas all part of the wearing for which he had longed. "I am glad I put onmy suit," he said; "I am glad I wore my suit."

Beyond the hedge he came to the duck-pond, or at least to what was theduck-pond by day. But by night it was a great bowl of silver moonshine allnoisy with singing frogs, of wonderful silver moonshine twisted andclotted with strange patternings, and the little man ran down into itswaters between the thin black rushes, knee-deep and waist-deep and to hisshoulders, smiting the water to black and shining wavelets with eitherhand, swaying and shivering wavelets, amidst which the stars were nettedin the tangled reflections of the brooding trees upon the bank. He wadeduntil he swam, and so he crossed the pond and came out upon the otherside, trailing, as it seemed to him, not duckweed, but very silver inlong, clinging, dripping masses. And up he went through the transfiguredtangles of the willow-herb and the uncut seeding grasses of the fartherbank. He came glad and breathless into the high-road. "I am glad," hesaid, "beyond measure, that I had clothes that fitted this occasion."

The high-road ran straight as an arrow flies, straight into the deep-bluepit of sky beneath the moon, a white and shining road between the singingnightingales, and along it he went, running now and leaping, and nowwalking and rejoicing, in the clothes his mother had made for him withtireless, loving hands. The road was deep in dust, but that for him wasonly soft whiteness; and as he went a great dim moth came fluttering roundhis wet and shimmering and hastening figure. At first he did not heed themoth, and then he waved his hands at it, and made a sort of dance with itas it circled round his head. "Soft moth!" he cried, "dear moth! Andwonderful night, wonderful night of the world! Do you think my clothes arebeautiful, dear moth? As beautiful as your scales and all this silvervesture of the earth and sky?"

And the moth circled closer and closer until at last its velvet wings justbrushed his lips...

* * * * *

And next morning they found him dead, with his neck broken, in the bottomof the stone pit, with his beautiful clothes a little bloody, and foul andstained with the duckweed from the pond. But his face was a face of suchhappiness that, had you seen it, you would have understood indeed how thathe had died happy, never knowing that cool and streaming silver for theduckweed in the pond.